


canon in d

by loyaulte_me_lie



Series: do not let your heart (go to shit) [2]
Category: Red White & Royal Blue - Casey McQuiston
Genre: Fluff, Hijinks & Shenanigans, M/M, Post-Canon, Weddings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-15
Updated: 2019-08-02
Packaged: 2020-06-28 18:26:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,777
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19818001
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/loyaulte_me_lie/pseuds/loyaulte_me_lie
Summary: Henry & Alex get married. Because, well, why the hell not?





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> No warnings as far as I know :) Title from the traditional British wedding march (Pachelbel's Canon in D, go check it out, it's really pretty!)

**New York | January 2024**

_“Remember: The rules, like streets, can only take you to known places.”_

**~ Ocean Vuong, On Earth We’re Briefly Gorgeous**

“So I was thinking,” Henry starts, turning around on his chair. There’s a smudge of ink on his face and syrupy, late afternoon light pours in from outside the window, illuminating the way he’s all relaxed in his office chair with one leg tossed casually over the other. He looks like one of those Picasso light paintings, all scribbly around the edges, except he’s not a minotaur or a bull. Alex thinks he might have a problem if his boyfriend suddenly metamorphosed into the minotaur.

“Thinking, ew,” Alex says, dumping his briefcase down in the hall and leaning against the doorframe, enjoying this, enjoying the feeling of being home after a long day at the mayor’s office and then bouncing by the shelter to say hi to a few of the kids. Never hurts to make someone’s day. Outside in the garden, a bird screams out a warning. One of the cats are probably on the hunt again. “That’s not what I pay you for.”

“Side benefit,” Henry steeples his fingers. “Aren’t you lucky?”

“Luckiest man in the galaxy,” Alex does a half-hearted press up on the doorframe, wonders about the possibility of dragging Henry away from his magnum opus for a bit of post-work, pre-dinner fun. From the look on Henry’s face…not _all_ that possible. Oh well. He’ll have to save up all his dirty thoughts for later. “Are you gonna tell me what you were thinking about or do I have to guess?”

“I don’t think you _would_ guess.”

“Aliens. One of the GOP announced they were actually pro-immigration. Your grandmother went to Pride.”

Henry’s eyes crinkle at the corners. “I’d pay to see my grandmother at Pride.”

“Queen Mother Mary, secret gay icon all along.”

“She’d rather be assassinated.”

“Well, I hear the royal family know an awful lot of very talented people…maybe autoerotic asphyxiation is a little _too_ far for a former monarch, we’ve got to take the moral high ground, leave her some dignity…”

“Do _not_ talk to me about my grandmother’s sex life, that is _not_ an avenue I want to envisage.”

“Toilet heart attack,” Alex continues, grinning at the memory of when he and Henry had had this exact conversation about assassination five years ago, when they’d just started to be friends and Alex had phoned him about the murderous gobbling turkeys, when all of this had just started to unfurl like the magnolia flowers back in the White House garden.

“Marry me,” Henry says, and Alex laughs, like he always does, but then Henry’s looking at him like an X-ray or a heat-seeking missile, the kind of intense that always makes Alex forget he’s been breathing for the past twenty-six years and that he actually does know how lungs work.

“Wha-“

“I’m serious.”

Alex just stares at him, words draining out of his head like someone inserted a plughole into his skull that he’s only just found out about. “Really? Marry?”

Henry sighs, then, and rubs a hand over his face in the way he does when he thinks he’s fucked up. He leaves another smudge of ink right between his eyebrows. He refuses to use a computer when he’s drafting, says the electronics mess with his brain. Alex has given him no end of shit for it – we’re in the twenty-first century, not back with James I – but Henry plugs along stubbornly with it even though they both know his brain is moving a million times faster than his hand could ever dream of keeping up with.

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t’ve brought it up.”

“No no no no, don’t apologise,” Alex manages, abandoning the doorframe to march across the room and deposit himself in Henry’s lap. Henry makes a satisfying little “oof” sound, then wraps an arm around Alex’s middle to keep him steady. “I’m just…not the sort of thing I was expecting to hear, that’s all. Why do you want to get married?”

“I was just thinking about it. I know everyone keeps asking us, and all, and I was talking to Bea about it and just…”

“Doesn’t Bea object to the institution?”

“Yes, she does. But then if _we_ were to get married, in Westminster Abbey or at Windsor or somewhere, and have the biggest, gayest wedding…” Henry sighs, presses his mouth to Alex’s shoulder. Alex slides off his lap and onto the floor, turning so he can actually look Henry straight in his beautiful, sunlit face, takes his hand and twines his fingers through Henry’s like rope, like a friendship bracelet, like a promise. “I just keep thinking about doing royalty _right._ Like, I could abandon it, sure, but it’s a hell of a platform and wouldn’t it make such a statement…”

“To have us there instead of some perfect heterosexual conservative white couple,” Alex finishes for him.

“What a statement that would make! It’s been legal in Britain for nearly a decade, but things still aren’t that good for queer folks…”

“…you’re telling me…”

“so if we throw a huge party for people, and I don’t want a wedding with all the boring people and boring tradition and…”

“You haven’t even asked me yet,” Alex interrupts. “I will happily plan the gayest wedding in the history of forever, but I hear a proposal is kind of necessary.”

Henry’s gone pink, is suddenly smiling, that genuine bright happy smile that most of the time is saved for Alex and their closest friends. It’s dazzling, Alex thinks, he’ll never _ever_ get enough of this; the soft rug under his knees, Henry’s happiness, their future unspooling ahead of them.

“Alexander Gabriel Claremont-Diaz,” he says. God his eyes are so blue Alex could fucking drown in them. “Will you marry me?”

“As long as you convince Janelle Monae to sing at our wedding,” Alex says, and finds himself abruptly hauled back onto Henry’s lap and kissed to within an inch of his life. Not that he minds in the _slightest._

“You’re going to be England’s first half-Mexican Duke,” Henry says, just pulling away enough to look Alex in the eyes. His hand is big and strong and warm around the back of Alex’s neck. Alex wriggles closer.

“Gotta keep annoying the haters somehow, babe.” Alex leans back into the kiss, presses the words close against Henry’s mouth, Henry’s laugh.

“God forbid we let them take a day off,” Henry agrees, hand coming up to find the top button of Alex’s shirt.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No warnings necessary, I believe, but usual drill if not. FYI includes a million references to people I think are really cool - drop me a comment if you want to know who they are :) Also thank you to Gaby for correcting my royal stylings for Alex - really appreciate it :D

_“Last summer I spent almost an hour blowing dandelions off their stems towards him, so that he had a chance to wish for everything he wanted.”_

**~ Helen Oyeyemi, Mr Fox**

*****

[ **www.buzzfeed.com/staffwriter/royal-wedding-2025-guests-whos-who** ](http://www.buzzfeed.com/staffwriter/royal-wedding-2025-guests-whos-who)

**Here Are 13 Lucky People We Know To Be Attending Henry and Alex’s Royal Wedding**

_And we’re really jealous!_

[Staff Writer, 4th June 2025]

Unless you live under a rock, you’ll know that His Royal Highness Prince Henry of Wales will be getting married to his, yes, _boyfriend_ former First Son Alex Claremont-Diaz in a historic ceremony at Westminster Abbey on Friday. Millions of people will be descending on London to celebrate with our boys, and millions more will be watching on their screens of choice. Some lucky chosen ones have received a sought-after invitation into the Abbey itself – here’s who we know is going!

  1. Janelle Monae is rumoured to be…



~

Alex sits in the windowsill of the fancy hotel they’ve put him up in, sipping a mug of coffee that Cash magically procured from somewhere at this godforsaken hour and going through Twitter and trying not to think about the day ahead. Not that he’s not excited, because duh – getting married to the love of his life _and_ getting to be the centre of (very positive) attention is going to be great, but also…marriage. Royal Wedding. Westminster Abbey. It’s weird and slightly terrifying to be crashing right back down into all the formality of royalty. They’d had space in New York, for the last six years, space to be themselves. Royalty doesn’t do that. He knows that now. Being a royal is like being Atlas, balancing the sky on your shoulders and hoping it doesn’t grind you into vague human-shaped dust that smiles for the cameras and never says anything too outrageous and does what the crown expects. Alex has no intention of ever becoming dust, and never expected to really _become_ royalty rather than just be adjacent to it, but heh. Life. Here it is.

At least he gets to start his tenure as Earl of Dumbarton with an almighty rainbow-coloured bang. He taps his fingers on the side of his mug, contemplates that for a second. _Earl_ _._ Of _Dumbarton_ _._ He doesn’t think he’s ever actually _been_ to Dumbarton, although he knows it's in Scotland somewhere and apparently has a banging castle. Henry, the undying nerd, informs him it developed from the ancient Kingdom of Alclud, got sacked by the Vikings, became Strathclyde sometime after that, and was invaded by what would become Scotland in the 12th century. So many battles, Alex thinks. The Brits really do manage to cram a lot of bloody history onto the cliffs and beaches of their tiny island. Maybe the island got to small to hold it all. Alex still can’t believe that a place you could fit into his home state four times over ruled a quarter of the world.

“Good _morning,_ ” June sings, knocking perfunctorily and coming to flop on the end of Alex’s unmade bed. Her hair is wet and she’s in a big t-shirt of Pez’s. “How’s my ickle bridegroom feeling?”

“Don’t you put your heterosexual labels on me, you monster,” Alex says, putting his phone down and twisting to look at his sister. “Where’s Nora?”

“Helping Pez get his clothes on.”

“Helping. Right.”

“Mmhm. I gave up a great sacrifice to come and check on my baby bro, see what a nice sister I am?”

“Such a Girl Scout.”

“Excuse you, I’m informed by Bea the Brits call them ‘Brownies’.”

“Like the cake?”

“Like the cake. You’re marrying into a really weird nationality, let me just put that out there.”

Alex gives her a look over the top of his glasses. “You think I _don’t_ know that?”

“Well you have been dating Henry for six years, maybe you’ve picked up some of his immunity.”

“You make Englishness sound like a contagious disease.”

“It is! I caught myself saying sorry for no reason three times yesterday!”

“Oh no, that’s a sign that the Englishness has progressed to her prefrontal cortex. Better inform all her loved ones and start planning the funeral.”

June does an impression of a corpse humming a funereal march for a second, and then rolls upright. “But really. How you feeling? When’s everyone descending?”

“The man from the palace just stuck his head in. Apparently Pierre is on the way with the suit to fit me herself. Mom and Dad and Leo are still getting ready. Henry is at Buckingham Palace. Nora is occupied, as you said. I don’t see who else I need to know about.”

“That was still not a talk about feelings.”

“I’m fine, June. I think. It’s gonna be fun,” he says, gives her the charming PR grin. She snorts.

“Only you, I…oh, hi Pez!”

“Yo, I’m just off to the Palace,” Pez says, leaning against the doorway. He is wearing a beautiful, cobalt-blue dashiki with gold embroidery like spiderwebs, and his nails are painted bright red. “Morning Alex, man.”

“Morning Auntie Pezza, what’s up?”

“The ceiling.”

“Screw you.”

“No thanks, I’m good,” Pez grins. “Excited? Terrified?”

“Yep,” Alex says. “Both of those. In equal measure. It’ll be cool.”

“It’ll be more fun than Phillip and Martha’s,” Pez says. “God bless the gays. I gotta go, the car’s waiting. I’ll give Henry a kiss from you shall I?”

“Hands off my fiancé,” Alex replies, without heat.

June blows him a kiss which he catches, pretending to stumble back, and then he’s gone. Belatedly Alex yells, “You look awesome, mate!”

“Thanks!” he hears from down the corridor. June is beaming to herself, so Alex throws the cushion he’s been leaning against at her. She squawks and throws it back, and that’s how the designer’s team finds them – squealing and wrestling and hitting each other with pillows. Alex cannot, for the life of him, bring himself to care.

*

gayfashwatchxx

So basically did u see that Alex is gonna be dressed by Pierre Davis?? Of No Sesso?? For his WEDDING!!!! I’m SO FUCKING EXCITED!!!

firstprinceforevs

What’s Henry gonna be wearing???

gayfashwatchxx

Fucked if I know, don’t princes all have to wear their dress uniforms?

wannabuilda

He never enlisted, sooooo…just gonna have to wait and see!

#royalwedding2025 #firstprince #fashion #alexclaremontdiaz

**235,670 notes**

*

The last time Henry was standing here was for Phillip’s wedding, all those years ago. He looks up at the arch of the ceiling, a line of flight soaring up into some royal crest, back down at the gathered congregation. Last time he was here, he’d spotted Alex bright-eyed and laughing in the congregation, felt Alex’s presence like someone had just put a fist into his stomach, winded, wanting. If someone had leaned over and told him that day that seven years later he’d be standing on the same spot waiting to marry Alex, he’d have laughed in their faces. What a weird way life has, sometimes, of giving you everything you never thought you’d have.

“You good?” Pez says in his ear as they turn to face the assembled congregation. It is a paintbox blaze of ridiculous colours and smiling faces, of whispering and laughing. Henry’s mother has just processed in, is now in the front row talking to Ellen Claremont; as if she feels his eyes on her, she turns and gives him a small wave.

“Why would I not be good?” Henry asks.

“I don’t know, maybe because you’re resembling a snow-cone about now and I can feel you shaking. We’ve got twenty minutes. Do you need me to cause a scene?”

Henry briefly considers it. Then, “No, just keep talking to me. Tell me something random.”

“Nora said that there was a 73% possibility that shit would go down at the reception.”

“What kind of shit?”

“I mean, the last Royal Wedding, you and your darling imminent husband-to-be ended up wearing the wedding cake.”

“God, don’t remind me.”

“It’s the best getting together story _ever._ Nora, June & I’s is so _boring_ in comparison. You stole all our thunder, mate.”

“Oh I’m _so_ sorry.”

“You should be,” Pez sniffs haughtily. Then, “Oh look, it’s Jacinda Arden, we have _got_ to go say hi after the ceremony!”

“So it is.”

“Bless you and your hedgehogs for inviting all these cool people I can schmooze with.”

Pez loops an arm through his, the bright blue of his sleeve a violent rebuke to Henry’s dark charcoal. Henry wondered about really breaking the mould, but upon talking to Alex and the vague plans that Pierre Davis had in mind it made more sense to go plain, to provide a canvas for whatever the fuck Alex will be wearing. His waistcoat is embroidered in the colours of the Pride flag, and he is wearing a matching tie; it’s enough. He starts looking around at the ceiling above the heads of the guests again, wondering at the fact that, nearly one thousand years after the founding of this church, a gay man, a gay _prince,_ is getting to stand up and get married here.

The sound of the organ brings him back into himself. The congregation rustles to its feet like a flock of birds, the whispering dies down. Pez slaps his shoulder.

“Good luck,” he says, stepping the required distance away and turning attentively to the door. Henry had wanted he and Alex to walk up the aisle together, but his mother had said something about it being symbolic, Alex joining the Royal Family, walking up on his own. Henry’s heart is pounding, his vision tunnelling. All he can focus on is the sound of the music – Pachelbel’s Canon in D, just like tradition dictates – and the figure at the end of the aisle who has just appeared in a blaze of colour.

The seconds skip like stones skimming the surface of a lake. Alex gets closer, and Henry’s mouth hurts from suppressing the hysterical smile megalomaniacally intent on taking over his face. Alex’s suit jacket is a constellation of rainbow sequins, glittering in the candles and the weak stained-glass sunlight. It sets off his dark hair and his smile, and the white bouquet of flowers he’s decided to hold. Henry gives up on controlling his smile at that, at the memory of the conversation where they’d gone one by one through all the traditional English wedding requirements, deciding what they wanted to keep, what would make a statement, what bits of Mexican wedding tradition they wanted to put into the old English ceremony.

Alex climbs the steps, and hands the flowers off to June, who Henry knew was here but barely noticed – she and Nora look wonderful, as they always do – and takes Henry’s proffered hand.

“Hi,” is all Henry can manage through his smile, his feelings.

“Hi,” Alex replies, squeezing his fingers, his smile as bright as a comet. “Ready to be legally stuck with me for the rest of your life?”

“Never readier,” Henry says, and they take their seats.

*

**[www.commonsenseeconomics.com/blog/dispatch_royal_wedding_henry_alex](http://www.commonsenseeconomics.com/blog/dispatch_royal_wedding_henry_alex) **

**Common Sense Economics: A Dispatch From The Royal Wedding of Prince Henry and Alex Claremont-Diaz.**

_By Eliza Rashid_

So I’m well aware that this post is a break in tone and content from the rest of my blog, and I reassure my regular readers that economic issues will be back with a vengeance in the next few days but. But. I was lucky enough to attend the Royal Wedding this weekend, and as a gay woman, a millennial, and someone with a platform that doesn’t usually attract much talk on these issues, I want to do this special post to highlight just how amazing it was.

It was, without a doubt, the LGBTQ+ event of the year. I was invited into the Abbey for the ceremony itself, as well as to the reception afterwards, and wow, I have never felt so happy and joyous to be at a big public event like this. The grooms were just glowing – Prince Henry was in classic charcoal Armani morning dress with rainbow stitching on his waistcoat and a Prince’s Trust pin in his rainbow cravat, whilst Alex Claremont-Diaz was sporting a creation of the sensational LA-based designer Pierre Davis, who’d taken out all the stops and gone with the glitteriest jacket ever invented in the history of mankind. If anyone could pull off getting married looking like a mirror-ball, it is _definitely_ our old First Son.

So my wife and I arrived early and got photos outside the Abbey together, and with a few of the people who’d already shown up. The British may have enough dodgy history to fill the entire Library of Congress, but damn they sure know how to do architecture; the Abbey is so beautiful and ornate, and I can absolutely believe it’s been here for hundreds of years. After that, we got to go in and find a seat – luckily got one on the aisle near the front. I got my notepad and tissues ready, and then Jackie and I spent the time before the ceremony started playing ‘spot the awesome famous person.’ We saw literally anyone who’s anyone in the queer community – the creative lot, activists, politicians – and a few of the usual suspects, I assume friends of the other royals.

Then all the heads of state started arriving, including our own delegation with our new President Pressley and her husband, and then finally when everyone was seated the British Royal Family started showing up. First, it was the siblings – Prince Phillip and his wife Martha, looking very conservative amongst the bright colours of most of the guests, and Princess Beatrice, who went green, blue and purple with an actual honest-to-god tiara. Then Alex’s parents arrived too – Ellen Claremont got a huge spontaneous round of applause from everyone as they took their seats up the front, and _then_ we all had to stand up to this big dramatic music for Queen Catherine and Queen Mother Mary to make their entrances. Queen Mother Mary was all in black – in _mourning,_ Jackie hissed at me, _if the rumours are true_ – but Queen Catherine was resplendent in an elegant gold dress. If I’m being honest, she’s kind of my hero – being the first princess to get a PhD, marrying someone she loved, standing up and supporting her son against the world, outwardly working towards anti-colonialism…it’s pretty amazing, huh?

And then, finally, _finally,_ the main event. There was an enormous royal fanfare, and then Pachelbel’s Canon in D started being played on the organ and everyone was craning their necks and there he was! What must it feel like to stand at the doors of Westminster Abbey, about to be married? Mostly everyone was focused on Alex as he walked up the aisle – complete with a big bouquet of white flowers, because why should flowers only be associated with femininity people? – but I snuck a glance back up to where Prince Henry and his best man Percy Okonjo (wearing the brightest blue dashiki I have _ever_ seen) were standing and wow, the look on Henry’s face. I bet he never thought as a gay man he’d be able to have anything like this, and I mean, I started tearing up because like we’ve still got a way to go on gay rights and things but the world is getting kinder, a gay royal couple can get married in Westminster Abbey, America has its second female president in a row…

Alex’s attendants were his sister June Claremont-Diaz and their best friend Nora Holleran, who were both stunning in the more traditional white, although June wore amazing shoes to match her brother’s jacket, and Nora’s afro was full of rainbow coloured gems. They also had a bunch of the kids from the now-six Princes Trust shelters around the world to be the pages, and that got me crying even more – all these kids who were kicked out of their homes or ran away because of who they were getting to be a part of this wedding, getting to feel like they belong in this enormous queer family Prince Henry and Alex Claremont-Diaz have been building the last six years. They processed up the aisle – close enough that if I reached out my arm I could have touched Alex’s shoulder – and then we sang a hymn, Guide Me O Thou Great Redeemer, which, well as a non-Christian I find the words a little overblown but it’s a gorgeous tune. The Dean of Westminster welcomed the congregation, and they did the introductions, and some stuff from the Bible and then we sang a traditional hymn in Spanish. Ocean Vuong, the poet, has written a couple of poems for the occasion and read them; this amazing pianist called Isata Kanneh-Mason played a piece on the piano which the program informs me was written by Wagner. Then we had Annie Mortimer, the first female Archbishop of Canterbury, to actually administer the service. The vows themselves were so lovely and followed by the Mexican tradition of El Lazo, where the two of them were wrapped up in a long loop of flowers and beads to be blessed. Percy Okonjo looked like he was having too much fun tying them up! The vows were still the traditional English ones, but rewritten in a way that made them more queer-friendly. I’ve written them down the bottom. I cried. Jackie cried. I’m pretty sure both Alex and Henry were tearing up down the front. The applause when they kissed was amazing.

I’ve attached a link to the sermon and stuff because I want to get onto the reception, which like, wow. I can’t believe Jackie and I got invited to that, but I guess I’ve known Alex since the campaign trail right back in 2016 because parents, been there for everything even though we’ve never been like, close, or anything. Still. It was a lovely gesture. We got to ride into Buckingham Palace, and be in the room behind whilst they went outside to do the traditional kiss on the balcony with the whole Royal Family arrayed around them and screaming crowds outside. I hear that somewhere there _was_ a bit of a counter protest going on, but like, did it really matter? The crowds were exuberant – you sure know us gays know how to put on a party!

The reception itself started out very serene, shall we say, and then as soon as Queen Mother Mary retired back to her rooms – she is nearly 90, it’s a long day – the party really picked up. The grooms did a first dance of a sort (it seemed to involve more stumbling and laughing than actual dancing) to Janelle Monae and Elton John’s duet version of I Don’t Feel Like Dancing, and then Princess Bea also sang for us, Hayley Kiyoko, Me’shell Ndegeocello, Aaron Porter, Chris, and a whole load more.The cake was huge and glittery, the alcohol free-flowing. I don’t remember all that much more after that because I was quite drunk – apart from dancing in a circle with both grooms and Jackie and Percy Okonjo, all delighted and disbelieving and absolutely trashed, then having a long conversation about the statistical economics with Nora Holleran. What can I say? Can we just assassinate his older brother so we can do all this again with a coronation please?

*

cuuuurious

[zoomed in photo of Alex and Henry kissing on the balcony of Buckingham Palace]

THIS IS EVERYTHING.

dameronismybae

<3 <3 <3

queerlitterati

A beaut day for the whole community.

#royalwedding2025 #firstprince #gay

**968,700 notes.**

*

“Well,” Alex says, leaning tipsily against Henry’s shoulder as the plane barrels down the runway and the lights of London begin to sprawl inelegantly out beneath them, capillaries of light branching bright against the sleeping darkness. “Well, o husband of mine.”

“Husband,” Henry repeats. “Please tell me I’m not dreaming.”

“Believe me if you were dreaming we’d be doing a lot more than being boring and tiredly crashed here on the sofa,” Alex snuggles closer. He’s out of the sequinned jacket now – bless Pierre and her ability to make a splash – and curled up in a soft jumper he’s pretty sure started out life in Henry’s wardrobe. The plane’s engines rumble beneath them. Honeymoon will be nice, he thinks, to get away from the furore of wedding planning, of fighting everyone over stupid things that, looking back, no-one will care about, of the endless smiling for pictures and going for fittings on top of all the usual stuff that comes with working with New York’s mayor and running a major non-profit.

“We’ll have plenty of time for that in Italy, you insatiable creature.”

“Pot kettle black.”

One of the air hosts pops their head out of the door to tell them that they can take their seatbelts off, and brings them a big bottle of champagne.

“I don’t think I can drink anymore,” Henry moans, sliding further into the seat and pulling Alex down with him.

“Weakling,” Alex says, but makes no move towards the bottle himself. He’s busy replaying the day in his mind, the look on Henry’s face as he’d reached the top of the aisle, the nerves settling themselves into concrete surety that this is it, this is the future, they are fucking _married,_ he has a _husband, Jesus Christ._ Then he thinks about all the kids from the shelters, so unbelievably excited to be a part of it, thinks about drunkenly gushing at a very amused Janelle Monae, about getting to watch Henry swept up into a waltz with Pez and thinking this, this, _this._

“What was that, Your Royal Highness?”

“ _Your Royal Highness?_ ”

“I told you, that’s what people will call you now.”

“Wicked.”

“If you make June call you that I think she’ll smack you.”

“Wasn’t June I was thinking of, babe,” Alex says, sliding a hand onto Henry’s thigh. Henry laughs and pulls him closer, his ring glinting in the lamplight. Husband, Alex thinks, leaning into the kiss, bracing his free hand against Henry’s shoulder. Duke. Fucking history. It’s a gorgeous thing to be proven utterly right.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Come tumblr with me: @barefoot-pianist!

**Author's Note:**

> I'm writing so much fluff at the moment to deal with the fact us Brits are getting an awful human being for our Prime Minister unless there's a wonderful deus ex machina moment (please, heavens, any time now!). Sighs. If only RW&RB was reality. 
> 
> Come scream about people with me on Tumblr: @barefoot-pianist.


End file.
